Wet Dream
by DarkFairy207
Summary: After a night of drinking, Dean returns to find Sam having a wet dream. Completely drunk, curious, and suddenly much too turned on by his brother's display of arousal, he decides to help his little brother along. WINCEST! Slash! One-shot. Warning: non-con


**Just a weird little one-shot I came up with. Rated M for a reason! Don't like wincest, don't read!**

**I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters yet if I did… The things I would do to them… Anyway! Don't forget to review and whatnot! **

Dean stumbled through the door with a surprising amount of stealth. He knew his brother would be sleeping. Mister "I'm-too-healthy-to-get-drunk"! Dean stifled a laugh at his own drunken thoughts and plopped down on the bed next to Sam's. He felt great. He felt better than great. He felt completely hammered and that was as close to perfection as a hunter, especially a Winchester, could get.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a moan. Dean jolted upright, which proved to be stupid and pointless because the entire room melted into a flurry of colours and moving shapes. Sitting up too fast was obviously a no-no. Finally, things fell into focus and he stared at Sammy with concern. He thought the moan was one of pain, but after only a second of inspection, he realized that pain was not the cause of that sound.

Sam was having a wet dream.

Dean shook with laughter, his hand clasped desperately against his mouth so he wouldn't wake Sammy. He and Sam had been sharing rooms for years, and it wasn't like they hadn't walked in on each other in some sticky situations before, but this was different. Partially because this time Sam was asleep, and partially because Dean was incredibly drunk making the entire situation just that much more funny.

The younger Winchester let out another soft moan, his brow furrowing ever so slightly and only for a moment, but in that moment his pleasure was obvious. Whoever he was dreaming about was damn good at their job. Dean didn't realize he had stopped laughing until the room fell silent again. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding and his own brow began to furrow.

What the hell was that? He had actually purposefully silenced himself so he could listen to his little brother vocalize his pleasure. If Sam knew… Well Dean didn't want to think about that.

"Yes… Please…" Sam muttered, his voice husky and full of arousal. Dean sucked in a sharp breath. Oh God. He felt… Aroused?

No. Fuck no. Even drunk he was able to recognize how wrong just the idea of being turned on by his own brother was. It was disgusting, it was terrible it was… hot. Alright, so being drunk meant he knew it was wrong, but being drunk also meant that he kind of didn't care. He wasn't able to care. Instead, all he could focus on was the way Sammy's lips parted and the soft pants that escaped them. Even in the dark, he could see his face slightly flushed, his chest heaving up and down with each breath

His brother, well, Dean would admit without a problem that although he was undoubtedly attractive, Sam had features that Dean could only wish he had. He had an angular jaw which was now covered in a slight bit of stubble, long soft brown hair that messily covered him and the pillow, and a killer body. They were in Florida so Sam had fallen asleep wearing only boxers, which were now awkwardly tented, and the blanket was thrown to the side, revealing hard carved muscles. Dean traced the contours of his arms, his chest, his sculpted abdomen. His eyes weren't really filled with wanting as much as admiration and envy.

Sam let out a whimper and this time his back arched off the bed for a second. Dean's eyes widened at the sight. His own pants suddenly felt a little tight. He was getting entirely too turned on by the this and he didn't even have the conscience to care. He licked his lips almost nervously and his pulse began to race. Sam was practically writhing in his sleep and his erection was impossible to ignore. Dean suddenly wondered if…

No, no, no, no, so fucking wrong. This was so fucking wrong! What was he thinking? Why was he moving until he was sitting on the edge of Sammy's bed? Why was his hand inching its way over to his brothers sleeping form? Why was he not able to stop himself? Between the alcohol and sudden rush of blood between his legs, he wasn't even able to answer those questions. The entirety of his thoughts was clouded with terrible judgment. The temptation was too terrible and his curiosity wasn't any better.

His fingertips barely grazed Sam's side but he could feel the burning heat of his skin, and Sam certainly had felt it. He sucked in a sharp breath and the release was accompanied by the softest of moans. Dean froze, his lower lip being painfully pressed between his teeth, trying to silence his own jolt of excitement.

Shit.

He dared to try again, this time trailing his index finger along the side of his body. If Sam was awake he'd probably have been laughing, as he was ticklish, but instead there was another intake of air. Dean became more daring and flattened his palm on his brother's chest. He could feel his heart hammering beneath his hand, along with the tensing of each and every muscle. His skin was surprisingly soft and smooth and his muscles moved elegantly beneath it. God, this was so wrong but at the same time, well a certain part of his body thought this was the best damn idea in the entire fucking world.

He brushed his thumb over one of Sam's nipples, earning him a hiss. He flicked it a few times until it was hard, pointed, and Sam's back was arching slightly off the mattress. How was he sleeping through this? Dean had to focus on keeping his own breathing quiet as to not wake him, which was becoming increasingly hard. That wasn't the only thing becoming increasingly hard….

Fuck! Why was he doing this? And most of all, why the hell was he so damn turned on by it? Why did it feel like he could possibly come without even touching himself?

While his brain tried to sort this out, which was rather pointless considering his current state of drunken stupor, his hand began to travel down his stomach, tracing the lines of each and every abdominal muscle. Sam's face was fixed in a desperate expression. His body knew what he wanted, knew what was going to happen, and the anticipation was killing him. Dean almost laughed at the thought. Finally, his fingers reached the top band of his boxers. They paused there for a moment as whatever sanity left despite his arousal and his alcohol induced state battled for dominance.

He wanted it to win. He wanted to suddenly wake up out his haze, realize how damn wrong this was, how utterly disgusting and perverted it was, and just go to bed. Hopefully his hangover would relieve him of the awful memories of him about to jerk off his own sleeping brother. God, he wanted that. Too bad, his cock didn't.

With the final bit clarity completely gone, he pushed past the fabric, through the coarse curls, and finally, his hand was wrapping around his cock. Sam let out a loud grunt, hips pushing upward into his hand. Dean bit his lower lip again, trying to choke down a moan. His own cock was straining painfully against his jeans at this point, and he shifted uncomfortably. With a frustrated grunt he pulled away from Sam for a second. The sleeping Winchester whimpered at the loss of his touch.

It took Dean a few times to coordinate his fingers properly to unbutton his jeans and unzip them. He pulled out his throbbing erection and allowed his head to lull back in pleasure as he stroked himself slowly. Finally!

He returned his other hand to Sam's cock, matching each stroke with his own. Sam was moaning with no restraint, still lost in whatever pleasurable dream was taking place in his head. He writhed, arched his back, and tried to match his steady rhythm with his hips. He passed his thumb over the head, collecting the precome and smoothing it down his length. He tightened his grasp and his brother gasped at this.

"Faster, oh God," Sam choked, jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tensing. His hands fisted the loose sheets around him.

Dean's breathing was labored to the point he thought he might hyperventilate, the unfortunate side-effect of trying to keep so impossibly quiet. Despite that little obstacle, he had never been so hard in his life. He couldn't tell which hand was touching who, and he didn't care. His eyes were shut and his mouth hung slack as he felt his stomach twist and fill with heat. He was going to come, and he was going to come hard.

He had no idea if Sam was close but he wasn't about to slow down for his sake. With a few more pumps, slickened by precome dripping from the tip, he came. Hot, white streams of cum shot out and covered his hand.

Sam let out a strangled cry, his back arching clear off the bed as he came. His seed spilled over his stomach and on Dean's other hand. Both brothers were left panting messes, one falling back into a deep comfortable slumber, the other realizing he desperately needed to wash his hands.

Dean practically bolted to the bathroom, trying to keep his balance as best he could. The florescent light burned his eyes but he didn't care, all he could think about was what he'd just done. If Sam knew he'd kill him. Fuck, he'd kill him and feed his heart to a werewolf while dancing around the rest of his burning remains. That's how fucking pissed he'd be. Dean groaned, feeling stupid and dirty. Instead of simply washing his hands, he turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stepped inside. He planned to be in there as long as it would take for him to feel clean, which would be a long time.

When Sam woke up the first thing he noticed was that Dean had somehow made it back home last night, despite how much he had had to drink. He could still smell the lingering stench of alcohol in the motel room. Dean was passed out on the bed, his hair still apparently damp from the shower he had most likely taken the night before. He was kind of surprised that he had even thought to clean himself. He gave a mental shrug he sat up, and that's when he noticed what was on his stomach.

Absolute horror drained the blood from his face. Fuck. He remembered having a bit of a… Well to be frank, a damn good sex dream, but hadn't thought his body would have reacted like this. He hadn't been in this situation since he was fourteen. He leapt from his bed and rushed to the bathroom, praying that Dean hadn't seen it when he came in. He could only imagine how grossed out he would have been.


End file.
